


E. Oxypetalum

by evermint



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evermint/pseuds/evermint
Summary: Falling in love was not the plan for either Captain Hector Barbossa, feared Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, or Eden Phillips, a trained British spy hired by the East India Company. Is the beauty of love worth the pain of sacrifice and betrayal?





	1. The Witch of Tortuga

The smell of tangy rum and musty sweat washed over the Captain of the Black Pearl and his crew in waves as they docked in Tortuga’s port. Captain Barbossa knew that he had, for too long, neglected his men’s need to waste their pittances on rum, gambling, and women. Being that they had just barely escaped their recent encounter with the East India Company, and not without damage, Barbossa knew it was time, if not for his own sake, to pay ol’ Tortuga a well overdue visit. As he began to trudge through the docks and onto the familiar streets of the island to his usual pub, he gingerly probed the hasty bandaging that bound a tender wound, feeling the dampness of the blood and pus that soaked through the cloth. Tortuga seemed to him, to become less and less charming the older he got and the more often he came.

“Blimey, sir. Can ‘elp but notice, bu you should get that fixed up, soon as yer can, or it’ll fester in this ‘eat.” 

Barbossa turned, searching to identify the insolent voice. He fixed his sharp gaze on the young deck hand that had, in the frenzy of things, gotten left behind by the rush of men onto land.

“I been sailin’ and cuttin’ on the high seas fer longer than ye’ve been alive and breathin’. I’ll be needin’ no medical advice from the likes of a slimey dock rat like ye,” Barbossa spat, turning to leave. 

“O’ course, don’t be takin’ no advice from me. Go ter the witch! She’ll sort yer out in no time,” the boy said after him. 

Barbossa footsteps faltered. In all the years he’d been coming to Tortuga, never had he heard of any witch. He swiveled back around, narrowing his eyes. 

“Yer ‘aven’t ‘eard of ‘er then? Blimey, crew’s been talking about ‘er all night,” The young man exclaimed, “She lives a couple meters oray from the Widow’s Inn, right, and runs a smelly ol’ apothecary. Rumor is she ‘as magics and can ‘eal anyfink and evryfink!” 

“Don’t be lyin’ t’ me, lad. I've dealt wit' me fair share o' witches 'n a witch be no jokin' matter.” 

The deckhand shrugged nonchalantly. He opened his mouth, but quickly snapped it shut at the sound of his name being called by one of the crew members, well ahead and eagerly rushing towards the nearest tavern. 

“I ‘ope you find ‘er, sir!” The boy said hastily, before running off to join his friends.

If his wound festered in Tortuga’s muggy summer night air, he could kiss his left arm goodbye. The gash throbbed urgently and Barbossa heaved a sigh. Muttering to himself about the odds of encountering another witch, Barbossa decided to take his deckhand’s advice, setting off towards the village.  
He trudged up through the damp, cobblestoned streets of Tortuga, passing through the familiar and welcoming chaos of the pubs and houses of joy. Reaching the old, battered Widow’s Inn, Barbossa turned to inspect the street. Through the nightly fog that had begun to envelop the island, he could make out the row of shops that lined the narrow street. 

The pungent, musty smell of exotic herbs that assaulted his smell alerted him of her apothecary long before his eyes did. Wedged between a shoe repair and a parchment store was a modest window, partially covered inside by greying curtains, and a dark green door. The window was streaked with grime, making it difficult for Barbossa to perceive the shelves of jars that confirmed that the store was indeed the apothecary he was searching for. 

Though he could not make out any figures through the window, he could see the faint candlelight that barely illuminated the interior and decided that it was enough of an indication of life to warrant a visit. Pushing the groaning wooden door open, Barbossa ducked through the doorway, taking in the sight, before cautiously descending the steps to enter the room. 

“How can I help you, sir?” 

A willowy young woman rose from her seat in the corner of the store. She smoothed her hands over a stained apron that covered her simple grey dress.

“Be here that th’ Witch o’ Tortuga operates?” Barbossa asked, slowly approaching her counter. 

“Oh, yes, that would be me then.”

“I’ve seen many a witch ‘n ye, miss, are no such thing,” Barbossa declared. 

“I completely agree. They call me the witch simply because I am good at healing and happen to be a woman.”

“Aye, if ye can treat a wound, I would be much obliged,” Barbossa replied, his hands going up to rest over the hastily bandaged wound. 

“Come sit, then,” she said, pulling out the wooden barstool she had just been using for him. 

Barbossa slid onto the stool, crooking one leg to rest on a rung, while she disappeared behind a beaded curtain. The young woman returned shortly, leaving clacking beads in her wake, with a small metal box in hand. She set the kit down on the corner of her counter before unbuckling his sword strap. 

“Strippin’ me o’ me clothes already, sweet?” Barbossa grinned lecherously.

“I can’t heal what I can’t see, now can I?” She replied smoothly with a swift cock of her brow. “And I prefer Eden to ‘sweet.’” 

Letting her fingers trail along his collar, she stepped behind to help him remove his coat.

“Eden,” Barbossa tried her name out slowly.

“Paradise. Aptly named, I would reckon,” he mused, earning him a scoff. His half-lidded eyes followed her lithe form as she moved to her counter to set down his coat. 

“And may I have the honor of knowing your name?”

“Captain Hector Barbossa.” 

“Captain or not, the problem with you pirates is all the same,” she murmured as she unbuttoned his shirt, “You all treat personal hygiene as if it were the devil itself.” 

“When ye're aboard a ship like mine, lootin' a shower be th' last thin' ye needs t' worry about,” Barbossa muttered, watching her inky lashes bat against her alabaster skin as her nimble fingers worked to undo his crude bandaging. He winced as she peeled the last layer away from his throbbing wound. 

“This is honestly horrendous, sir,” she breathed, her sharp, angular eyes quickly analyzing his wound. “Your sutures are completely crooked.”

“Did them meself.”

“You need at least three more.”

“Ran out of time. And thread.” 

“How did you manage to get this? By sword?”

“Nay, me lady. I be offended ye reckon so lowly o' me swordsmanship. I cannot be matched by the blundering fools in the East India Company… but they were blastin’ the daylights out of me ship.” 

“I will need to clean this with some skullcap extract first before resuturing. Then I must treat it with a compress, a balm, and rebandage it.” Eden announced decidedly after a brief pondering silence. 

“Can you tell me any stories, then, Captain? I do love to hear about the adventures and the lore from pirates who pass through my apothecary.” 

“Pirate tales are hard won. They be dangerous too. Myths about booty can seduce even th' most humble o' scallywags t' sail t' th' ends o' th' earth. Take th' tales about Tefnut's menat, fer example. Hundreds o' scallywags, dead, 'cause they all heard o' th' power it holds 'n set off on an impossible journey. First t’ th' ancient, lost libraries o' Alexandria, where th' map be said t' 'ave last been seen. A map- written wit' th' menstrual blood from Tefnut herself.” 

Eden looked up, wrinkling her nose. “That can’t be sanitary, can it?” 

“Nay, lassie. 'Twas from her Netherlands that all th' pure water in our world was created. Only viewable when submerged in th' waters o' th' Nile, th' map leads scallywags through the grasslands, the rivers, and the deserts o' Egypt. Hidden in a lost pyramid dedicated t' th' Goddess o' Water be th' menat, an instrument that once belonged t' th' Goddess. If played correctly, it has th' power t' control th' tides, givin' its owner rule o'er all th' seas,” Barbossa recounted in a low voice, lost in the wonder of the myth. 

He suddenly hissed, jumping in his stool.

“The deeper the wound, the harder the skullcap stings. It means it’s doing its job,” Eden informed him, eying him from under a raised brow as she swabbed the area. “Be thankful it hasn’t been infected, else you would be tied down to my bed while I cut it out.” 

“I wouldna be opposed t' bein' tied down on yer cot... but perhaps under different conditions,” Barbossa said with a playful grin. 

“Oh I’m sure you would, you nasty pirate. Now keep still, I need to resuture you.” 

Barbossa watched the young woman, hunched over in focus, and let his gaze wander over her smooth raven locks, pinned loosely to the nape of her swan-like neck. In the amber candlelight, her porcelain skin and chocolate eyes glowed with warmth. 

“So I’m guessing no one has ever found this menat?” 

“Arr- th' problem that scuttles most scallywags be makin' it back alive. If th' heat 'n dryness doesn't get t' ye, it'll be th' swarms o' insects, th' midden snakes, th' vicious crocodiles. Legend says, th' goddess will send her lionesses aft anyone who dares t' disturb her temple.” 

“How did you come across this legend?” Eden leaned back, satisfied with her work, and began putting her tools away. 

“An ole acquaintance o' mine. He’s of Egyptian blood, 'n many o' his ancestors died obsessed, tryin' t' find th' menat.” 

“I once knew an Egyptian man. The first time he came by my shop, it was to fix his back. The poor man had gotten into a fight and pulled a muscle. Couldn’t even bend his back. So I did- I healed his back after about three hours of acupuncture, aggressive massaging, and spine realignment. But he did tell such wonderful stories of exotic lands.” Eden recalled softly as she measured out various dried roots and powders to fill a small cloth bag.

“The second time he came back, he tried to steal from me. Tried to distract me while he told me a story, but I caught him,” Eden said with a sigh, soaking the bag in a shallow pan of water. She placed a hand gently on Barbossa’s shoulder while pressing the compress against his tender wound. “So I dislocated his jaw.” 

Barbossa blinked. “How can a lass like ye dislocate a grown man’s jaw?” 

“It’s actually quite simple if you’ve studied the human anatomy for as long as I have.” Eden whispered as she traced her finger up Barbossa’s stubbled neck to just between his cheekbone and ear. “All it takes is a little pressure here while you’re opening your mouth and-” 

She made a popping noise before she shrugged nonchalantly, her heart-shaped lips lifting into a tired smile. Barbossa suddenly had a very disjointed feeling. The woman who stood before him, tending to his wounds, was gentle as she was commanding. 

“An’ how 'ave ye come t' know so much o' th' human anatomy?” 

“My mother used to own this store. Stayed right here for twenty years while my father was off sailing around the world. I suspect, although it repulses me to my essence, that I am condemned to the same fate,” Eden said. Her voice sounded weary as she bandaged Barbossa’s wound. “Learned everything she knew from her mother and passed it on to me. But she’s back in her hometown, Shanghai, now with the rest of my sisters.”

“An’ why is that?”

“She is ill. It… it is a long story. I do not like to dwell on it,” Eden said dismissively.

“And your father?” 

“Dead,” She replied curtly. 

“My condolences,” Barbossa said, placing a rough, scarred hand over her soft, slender one that rested on his shoulder. 

Eden gave a soft smile in return before letting her hand slide down to begin to button his shirt back up. 

“As much as I loved swapping tales with you, Captain Barbossa, you of all people must know that I do not and I cannot work for free.” 

“This should cover it.” Barbossa pulled out a bag of coins, tossing it onto the counter while he wordlessly mourned all the fine rum it could’ve bought him. 

Eden nodded as he strapped his sword back on. “Now all you need to do is to give it time to heal. Don’t stress this area too much and please, at least try to keep it clean.” 

Barbossa gave her a crooked grin as he got up off the stool. The Captain rolled his shoulders back before placing his large, plumed hat back on. 

“Arr, I hope I’ll be back one day t’ take you up on yer offer t’ tie me down to yer cot.” 

“In your dreams, you nasty pirate.” 

\----------

In the following months, Barbossa looted more ships. But with more booty came more encounters with vengeful companies and authorities. Though he managed to out maneuver them every time, he also managed to get injured every time. Or he did, at least, the first few months. But when he had no gashes left to treat, the excuse to visit Eden became mundane things like neck soreness and leg cramps. 

Barbossa didn’t really know why he longed to visit her when he was perfectly unscathed. It was unreasonable. He did, however, know that the warmth he longed for could no longer be found in the whorehouse, but rather in the apothecary, accompanied by the gentle touch and conversation of a certain witch. As the months in between his visits lengthened, he realized that he no longer yearned to drink rum at his favorite pub, but rather yearned to drink from the deep, velvety cognac of her eyes. 

“Tis nearly dawn. We be settin’ sail soon.”

They had talked for hours. This time, she had told him how the Ephedra grass, commonly found in northern China, could be used to cure certain illnesses or cause kidney failure if ingested too often. In return, he would tell her tales of his adventures sailing as a young pirate in the Mediterranean seas. Barbossa came to cherish the look of enraptured attention on her face when he would tell her about foreign lands and dangerous creatures.

“Good lord- I always seem to lose track of time when you’re here telling me stories. You really should let me know when you wish to retire for the night.” Eden rose to walk Barbossa out the door.

“Plenty o’ time to sleep while I be at sea. It'll be two months ‘fore I see you again.”

“Two months? That is quite some time.” 

“Aye,” Barbossa grunted as he pushed the door open. They stood in the warm, humid Caribbean night air. 

“Well. You’d better take care of yourself. If you come back hurt I’ll be so upset I’ll poison you.”

“An’ I ‘ave no doubt about that. I shall return bearin’ more tales of yer favorite Orion’s constellation.” 

“I expect as much,” Eden said with a smirk. “Be safe.” 

Barbossa nodded, tipping his hat. But as she turned to return to her store, he slid an arm around her slim waist. 

“I won’t be seein’ ye for another two months. That be no way to send a man off,” he rumbled, drinking in the sight of her, looking up at him, hands pressed against his chest, as he pulled her close. 

Listening, Eden’s eyes widened. Slowly, she reached up to cup the side of the pirate captain’s scruffy, weathered face before she rose to her toes and pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek. Her bright eyes twinkled in the moonlight as she twirled out of her arms and back into her apothecary, closing the door behind her with a quiet snick and leaving a yearning pirate in her wake.


	2. Burning Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context- this story is set with the majority of the first movie having happened, ignoring the ending bit where Barbossa gets shot and killed. The rest of the film series is pretty much completely ignored. 
> 
> Since music inspires me endlessly (especially Hans Zimmer’s film scores) and helps, I think, to set the scene, I’ll include the music I listened to while writing for the next few chapters. Hopefully this just adds to the experience! 
> 
> For part 1: The Mole from the Dunkirk soundtrack   
> For part 2: Day One from the Interstellar soundtrack

The feel of her soft lips burned against his cheek as he set foot on the docks of Tortuga. He had never before let a single woman distract him as much she had while he was at sea- “let” being the key word. For Barbossa refused to accept that this waif of a woman had her mark so boldly on his mind without his permission. 

The gold coins from his latest looting pressed against his leg urgently as he watched his crew jostle off to the pubs. But once again, he found himself following the pull of his heart, rather than his groin, up past the ruckus of the drunkards and whores. As he followed the familiar cobblestoned street around the village center and up the hill into the unlit, quiet part of the island. 

A mist had begun to settle in by the time he reached the edge of town. Ahead, he could see the vague silhouette of the sloping roofs and crooked chimney of the old Widow’s Inn. As his sight grew steadily more impaired due to the fog, his hearing grew sharper. The nearby sounds of shouts and breaking glass made him pause momentarily. Barbossa was far from the seaport village, where these noises were commonplace. They did not belong to this sleepy neighborhood. 

Immediately, his mind went to his apothecarian. With a hand resting on the handle of his sword, he quickened his pace up the rest of the hill and rounded the corner silently. 

A group of six men staggered around the apothecary, hollering slurred profanities as they tossed books and parchment into an ignited pile at their feet. They threw bottles, which exploded into shards upon impact, at the door and window. A brick flew through the air and broke through another panel of glass on the window. 

“You’ve brough’ us nuffin’ but evil spirits n’ bad omens!”

Two men rushed out the front door, whooping, arms full of silver bowls and scales. 

“Na I believe we’re still missin’ some treasure. ‘and over the res’ o’ ther booty, missy,” Barbossa heard one of the men say.

“Let go of me! Please- you have everything I own! What more do you want?”

“Oh but you ‘ave sommit for me yet, lassy,” the man said with a lecherous chuckle, cornering Eden and grabbing her wrist.

Panicked, Eden swung an empty, ceramic flower pot, that had sat unused at the foot of the stairs, across his head with a sickening crack. He collapsed onto the floor with a moan. 

“You’re goin’ ta regret that, ye bleeding whore!” Another, shorter blonde man threatened. He shot the flower pot with his pistol. Eden released it with a gasp, crashing into the wall as he took hold of her neck. 

“Arr! Keep yer hands off her, ye lily-livered pig,” Barbossa growled, white-hot rage bubbling in his chest. He tossed the man into the street, knocking over two other men. Eden crumpled into him, gasping for air. 

“The witch an’ ‘er lover boy can go back ter where they came from!” 

“Back to ‘ell!”

“I’ll cut out ye tongue and feed it to the sharks, ye slovenly swine!” Barbossa barked, unsheathing his sword. The gang of men began to circle them. Drunk or not, the pistols they held were unwaveringly steady.

Barbossa was never one to back down from a fight. And yet, at the same time, he refused to be defeated by a gaggle of angry drunkards. So when Eden gasped, “run,” Barbossa couldn’t agree more. 

Heels knocking against on the damp cobblestoned street, Barbossa and Eden took off. They wound through streets desperately, with Eden leading the way. Hand in hand, she jerked them into alley after cramped alley. Through the pounding of his heart and his heavy breathing, Barbossa could hardly hear the shouts of the men as they lagged further and further away. 

\----------

“You couldn’t have returned at a better time,” Eden said, once she had finally managed to catch her breath. 

The pair sat besides each other, slouched against the brick wall of an abandoned tannery that sat at the very edge of the settlement. Ahead of them was nothing but a swath of native bushes, trees, and unruly hanging vines.

“Aye. This th' first time those scallywags 'ave been givin' ye trouble?”

“No. Not the first time. They’re not the only ones either,” Eden sighed, massaging her sore neck. “Most people tolerate me, since I can be quite useful when it comes to healing. But then there are some that honestly believe I’m a witch. Usually they aren’t so belligerent.” 

“We'll go back soon 'n try t' fix thin's up.”

Eden shook her head and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to ignore the chill that had settled into her bones. 

“They would have stolen, broken, or burnt anything of value in the shop and my bedroom. My life’s work- all gone. I have nothing left.”

Barbossa wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders, marveling at how she seemed to fit at his side as naturally as a puzzle piece. 

“Surely we can make some repairs? Bargain fer whatever 'tis ye needs t' keep runnin' th' business?” Barbossa suggested, desperately trying to soothe the broken woman besides him. 

“You don’t understand, Hector,” Eden replied, looking over at him through the tangled mess that was her hair. “I barely made enough to keep myself alive day to day. They’ve taken all that I have left. All the research I’ve done and books I’ve bought- they’ve burned them all.” 

Barbossa had almost forgotten how the discomfort that came with looking into the glossy eyes of a grief-stricken woman.

They sat in silence, breathing in unison. 

“Tell me a story. Anything. Anything to get my mind away,” Eden whispered. 

Barbossa pondered her request for a moment. 

“See th’ V up thar?” Barbossa pointed up at the night sky. “That's th' Andromeda constellation.   
Accordin' t' th' Greeks, she was chained t' a rock t' be sacrificed afore Perseus saved her. 'n th' star that makes her head- that's th' last star in Pegasus. Th' Pegasus was a beautiful 'n mighty winged beast, risin' from the blood of Medusa, slain by Perseus, 'n sea foam. Th' two most beautiful stars in th' sky. When I was in th' Namibian coast last month, I followed them. Followed them right back t' ye.

“When I am at a loss, I usually find that th' permanence o' th' stars gives me some good groundin'.” 

“You don’t seem like you’re ever at a loss, Captain,” Eden replied after a brief pause, taking in the beauty of the glimmering stars above them.

“I was a dead man fer ten years. Fer ten years, I was lost t' th' curse fer spendin’ the Treasure of Cortez. Ten years I spent tryin' t' break th' curse, jus' so I could feel again. Oh yes, I’ve been lost, my dear.” Barbossa replied solemnly as he watched Eden’s brows furrow.

“You’ve never told me this story before.”

“This was too depressin’ t' be jus' some tale t' tell. This was me life. Me owns personal Davy Jones' locker on Earth.”

“What is it like to be dead?” Eden whispered hesitantly as she turned to face him fully. 

“Best t' wonder wha' 'tis like t' be alive,” Barbossa said, bringing a hand to caress the swell of her cheek as his eyes drifted to her perfectly pink, parted heart shaped lips. 

“Then take me aboard with you,” Eden said suddenly, grasping his hand. 

Barbossa blinked, refocusing on Eden’s hopeful brown eyes.

“Th' next course fer th' Black Pearl be rough 'n dangerous. 'twill be no place fer women, much less men.”

“Where could you possibly be sailing next?” 

“In search o' th' Queen o' th' Night. 'tis a rare 'n precious flower whose aroma has th' power t' completely restore one’��s health t' that o' one's youth. Th' curse was cruel. Though I could nah die, I continued t' age. Me health was wasted away as I slaved t' break th' wretched curse-”

“The Queen of the Night? You’ll be searching for it? I know of it. It is referred to in ancient Latin accounts as Epiphyllum oxypetalum. I’ve studied it,” Eden said.

“Why would ye 'ave studied it?”

“My… my mother,” Eden hesitated, before explaining her story further. “She has been sick for many years. It is why she had to leave Tortuga with my younger sisters. She has family in Shanghai who can care for her and the healers are more sophisticated.” 

“But ye stayed behind.”

“This is all I’ve known. I try to send her money every month. And here, I can research and write to her about possible cures. So far, nothing has worked. I thought the Queen of the Night was just a legend.”

“Make no mistake- a legend does nah mean it ain’t real. I learned that th’ hard way. But, th' journey t' find the Queen be treacherous.” Barbossa warned.

“Let me come with you then,” she said finally, determined. 

Barbossa hesitated. He may have been one of the most experienced, fearsome Pirate Lords in the seven seas, but he was by no means cruel. This slight apothecarian meant more to him than he thought was reasonable for an aging pirate like himself. He could not imagine leaving her behind, to be forced to sell her skill or perhaps even her body to any passing man who’ll have her. Barbossa also reasoned that having a healer on board would increase his chances of finding the flower and making it back alive- since staying alive was now once again necessary for him and his crew. 

“We set sail at dawn.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did not know true struggle until I tried to write pirate-speech. If anyone has any tips on how to write with Barbossa's accent, I would be eternally grateful! I just really wanted to get this idea out as quick as possible, so please let me know how this first chapter was and if you are interested in the continuation of this story. x


End file.
